I get it.
No room for judgement in this ocean.
I get it.
No room for judgement in this ocean.
I went yesterday, to a funeral I thought I should go to.
It was for a Jew. A Jew I knew.
He wasn't a very good "Jew", although he was very "Jewish". Secular and non-tribal, he did not associate with other Jews, or really anybody, on purpose. He did, however, embody all of the few qualities of the Jew that I do appreciate; He was neurotic, funny, a mathematician and prolific reader, and a man who appreciated books above all else, except for family.
This Jew, this Jew I knew, he was the father of two brothers, both of whom I consider to be my best, oldest, and most permanent friends. Through some unfathomable debauchery, their mother, a gentile Texan, was impregnated by a New York Jew, and somehow, gestated and gave birth to two Philadelphians. Remarkable how that shit works.
I grew up with those two kids. It would be hard to exaggerate how good friends we were, and how good friends we still are. From the age of 13 to 16, I spent most weekends over at their house, along with the rest of our crew. We were all insane, and brilliant, and didn't give a shit. The amount of property damage we caused to that household was probably incalculable.
We once started digging a hole to China in the backyard. Only, we didn't stop after an afternoon. It was summer, and nothing was to be done, except for the dream of completion, and what might be found at the bottom. We got about maybe 8-10 feet deep. My friend, (***)'s parents decided to roll with it, covered it with a large latex liner, got a water filter, and it became a small backyard diving pool.
So this brings me back to (***), the actual Jew who died. He was a good one, he kvetched at much as any Jew I have ever met, but he did not actually have a greedy bone in his body.
He had this way of complaining about your presence, while letting you know you were always welcome and didn't have to leave. I think I ate more food at their house than I did at my Father's, some years.
He died of prion brain disease. Nobody knows what caused it (he definitely took the jab).
Apparently it was a few months from diagnosis until death, all the while he was losing his mind rapidly, but remaining in good spirits. A few choice quotes shared by his son's, and other family members, during the funeral:
- "I don't understand the colors, but it tastes amazing"
- After his son showed him the toilet: "Oh, that's it?!?" proceeded to stick his hand in it, attempting to take a drink.
- Close to death, talking to his wife "Is this when it all goes Ka-blooey?"
I had the chance to speak at this man's funeral, and I do not regret standing up to do so. I think I left out the kindest thing he ever did for me, which outstripped his begrudging generosity with the food pantry. I lived far away from these people, at least in terms of public transit, and had to take a train and a subway to get back home. This was before the days of smartphones, and entertainment on the train was nil if you had nothing to read.
He would always loan me a book, never expect me to return it, but always demand I talk about it on my next visit.
RIP
I went yesterday, to a funeral I thought I should go to.
It was for a Jew. A Jew I knew.
He wasn't a very good "Jew", although he was very "Jewish". Secular and non-tribal, he did not associate with other Jews, or really anybody, on purpose. He did, however, embody all of the few qualities of the Jew that I do appreciate; He was neurotic, funny, a mathematician and prolific reader, and a man who appreciated books above all else, except for family.
This Jew, this Jew I knew, he was the father of two brothers, both of whom I consider to be my best, oldest, and most permanent friends. Through some unfathomable debauchery, their mother, a gentile Texan, was impregnated by a New York Jew, and somehow, gestated and gave birth to two Philadelphians. Remarkable how that shit works.
I grew up with those two kids. It would be hard to exaggerate how good friends we were, and how good friends we still are. From the age of 13 to 16, I spent most weekends over at their house, along with the rest of our crew. We were all insane, and brilliant, and didn't give a shit. The amount of property damage we caused to that household was probably incalculable.
We once started digging a hole to China in the backyard. Only, we didn't stop after an afternoon. It was summer, and nothing was to be done, except for the dream of completion, and what might be found at the bottom. We got about maybe 8-10 feet deep. My friend, (***)'s parents decided to roll with it, covered it with a large latex liner, got a water filter, and it became a small backyard diving pool.
So this brings me back to (***), the actual Jew who died. He was a good one, he kvetched at much as any Jew I have ever met, but he did not actually have a greedy bone in his body.
He had this way of complaining about your presence, while letting you know you were always welcome and didn't have to leave. I think I ate more food at their house than I did at my Father's, some years.
He died of prion brain disease. Nobody knows what caused it (he definitely took the jab).
Apparently it was a few months from diagnosis until death, all the while he was losing his mind rapidly, but remaining in good spirits. A few choice quotes shared by his son's, and other family members, during the funeral:
- "I don't understand the colors, but it tastes amazing"
- After his son showed him the toilet: "Oh, that's it?!?" proceeded to stick his hand in it, attempting to take a drink.
- Close to death, talking to his wife "Is this when it all goes Ka-blooey?"
I had the chance to speak at this man's funeral, and I do not regret standing up to do so. I think I left out the kindest thing he ever did for me, which outstripped his begrudging generosity with the food pantry. I lived far away from these people, at least in terms of public transit, and had to take a train and a subway to get back home. This was before the days of smartphones, and entertainment on the train was nil if you had nothing to read.
He would *always* loan me a book, never expect me to return it, but always demand I talk about it on my next visit.
RIP
(post is archived)